


Marry Me

by TheEffinMitchell



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Kind of a songfic?, Mild Angst, Probably a happy ending, Unrequited Love, but not really, i'll never understand tags, idk man, its like.. mutually unrequited requited love?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-28 07:15:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13899024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEffinMitchell/pseuds/TheEffinMitchell
Summary: Anon asked: can you write a Bechloe fic based off the song Marry Me by Thomas Rhett





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Breaking this up into two parts since I'm a slow writer, and I wanted to get the first part out so I can just call it done and move onto the second half without over analyzing the first. I've noticed a few people have already written fics for this song, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

_People always talk about love at first sight, about seeing someone and just knowing you were meant to be together. But I don’t believe in that. I don’t believe you can simply look at someone and go ‘bang!’ I’m in love. It’s not a bullet out of the barrel. It doesn’t hit you with all the force of a freight train speeding down the tracks. It comes gradually, like tide against the sand, ebbing and flowing – a little at first and then all together, crashing ashore until the beach is soaked. It starts as attraction, which becomes affection, and then – only then – can it grow into love._

_That is, if it's given the chance._

_…_

_I guess the only question I have is… did I miss mine?_

* * *

The diamond is polished and cut to perfection, the brilliant gem iridescent in the mid-morning light. Beca stares, transfixed by the way colors pop and shine off its surface, dazzling from each angle. It’s a princess cut she thinks – _or is it a cushion?_ – nestled carefully atop a platinum band, its near ethereal glow outshined only by the blinding smile stretched across Chloe’s lips. It’s enough to make her heart stutter, clenching with a pain that’s somehow both familiar and new, striking her in such a way that leaves her momentarily breathless.

“Well…?” the redhead presses eagerly, wiggling her fingers in silent anticipation.

Beca blinks, swallowing around a lump of gravel and defeat as she forces a smile onto her own face, head bobbing as she nods her approval. “I dig it,” she says, reaching for Chloe’s outstretched hand, dutifully ignoring the way their palms mold so perfectly together as she lifts it further to the light. “Dude, this looks expensive! What’d it cost him? I didn’t think the military paid so well.”

“It’s not about the money,” Chloe tuts, rolling her eyes as Beca nods mockingly.

“Yeah, sure. Because if it was about the money, we all know you’d be marrying me,” she jokes, laughing harshly to hide the way her voice cracks. “Cuz, y’know… I’m kind of a big deal in the music world now,” she adds with a wink, earning a playful swat from the other woman.

“I could also marry Fat Amy,” Chloe grins cheekily, “You’re not the only millionaire Bella, y’know.”

“Ah, of course! What kind of competition would I be against Fat Amy? It’s just I actually, y’know… _earned_ my money,” she replies, feeling the earlier dread slip away, melting into the familiar embrace of their usual banter.

“True,” Chloe nods, with a look of feigned contemplation, “And there’s something inherently sexy about a hard working woman. But, then again, who can resist a girl who made millions so effortlessly? It’s a hard choice…”

Beca opens her mouth to reply, a witty retort about marrying her anyway on the tip of her tongue, but then she catches sight of the ring – blinded momentarily as it catches the light just right – and she’s reminded all too bluntly that marrying her was never even an option to begin with. “It’s a good thing you don’t have to choose then,” she says instead, lips twitching with a half-hearted grin, “You’ve already made your choice.”

“Beca…” Chloe begins, a brief flicker of _something_ in her eyes as she stares at the younger woman.

But Beca, in typical fashion, is quick to deflect any suspicion or concern, reaching once more for the ring. “So how did he do it?” she asks, pretending to fawn over the jewellry while avidly avoiding her eyes. “Pop the question, I mean.”

Chloe continues to stare, brows pinched with worry, but she knows that Beca has already thrown her defenses sky-high by this point and attempting to get past them is a futile endeavor. With a brief sigh of resignation, she concedes defeat and launches into the story. “He bought me a puppy,” she says, and Beca tries not to take offense at how easily a smile finds its way back onto her lips, “I’d just gotten home from school, and Chicago was there in the apartment. You know we’ve been doing the whole long distance thing for like six months now, and I wasn’t expecting him to visit for another month or two, but I opened the door and there he was.

“He just stood there with this big, dopey grin, struggling to keep hold of this squirming little Maltipoo. And, I dunno. I think I may have blacked out for a moment or two from all the excitement, but the next thing I know, I’m holding the puppy and fiddling with his collar, and… and instead of a tag, he wore a ring. And Chicago took the ring off, got down on one knee, and he asked me to marry him…”

“What did he say?”

“He said he didn’t know me as well as he’d like to, that though we’ve been together almost half a year, we’ve only actually spent about a month together in each other’s physical company. He said he didn’t know my mother’s maiden name, or what my favorite places are in the area that I grew up in… he doesn’t know my shoe size, or how I take my coffee other than tooth-rotting sweet… there’s a still a lot he admits to needing to learn. But he said the one thing he’s certain of, the one thing he’s always known, is how he feels about me.”

Against better judgement, Beca asks “And how do _you_ feel about him?”

Chloe’s eyes shift, a hesitance to her voice that feeds Beca hope, though hope for what she’s not yet sure. “I… I like him,” she says, as though she’s not entirely sure herself, “I like him a lot. Or, I mean, I-I guess I love him because I said yes, and obviously you can’t say yes unless you do. It’s definitely sooner than I’d expected, but he’s so good to me – _too_ good, if I’m being honest. He listens to me, he respects me, he makes me laugh… where else am I gonna find a guy like that?”

“He’s a good man,” Beca murmurs, and she’s woman enough to at least acknowledge that.

“Yeah…”

An awkward silence settles between them, the kind they haven’t felt since Beca’s freshman year, and it takes everything she has not to just stand up and leave, running away from what she’s always known to be true: that she’s in love with her best friend, but her best friend isn’t in love with her.

“Uhm, so… have you guys set a date yet?” she eventually asks, desperate to break the silence.

“Yeah, kind of. We’re… we’re thinking some time in May.”

“M-May? That soon? Wow, you guys are, uh… you certainly don’t do things the old fashioned way!”

Chloe offers a shrug, “He’s actually getting deployed in June, which is kind of why he asked so suddenly. He said he didn’t want to take any chances.”

“Oh.”

The silence falls heavy on their shoulders, and this time, Beca doesn’t even try to fight it. Glancing at her phone, she feigns surprise, quickly standing to grab her bag and keys. “Crap, I’m so sorry,” she says, breathless and hurried. “I can’t believe I didn’t check the time sooner. I have a Skype meeting with Khaled in like 20 minutes and I can’t be late for this. I need to get back to the office and–”

“It… it’s fine,” Chloe interjects, though the way she ducks her head indicates its anything but. “I know you’re really busy these days. I just… I wanted you to be the very first to know…”

It’s just enough to give Beca pause, fingers frozen mid-count to pay for the coffee they’ve barely even touched. “I… I’m the first person to know?”

“Well… well, _yeah_ ,” Chloe replies, shrugging her shoulders like its obvious. “You’re my person, Beca. You’re always gonna _be_ my person.”

“Then why are you marrying _him_?” she almosts asks, but it gets caught in her throat, trapped by fear and swallowed with regret. “You’re so weird,” she says in its place, lips tugging into its usual smirk. But then it softens into something warm and tender, a quiet, “You’re my person too, Chlo,” murmured shyly in return.

Chloe’s smile returns full force and it’s almost enough to make the thought of her marrying Chicago worth the heartache. Shaking away her own despair, Beca leans down and – in a rare show of affection – presses a kiss to the top of Chloe’s head. “Congratulations,” she says, voice muffled by the ginger’s hair, “I don’t say it nearly enough, but you’re the best person I know, and you deserve to be happy. And I’m happy that you’re happy.”

With a parting wave goodbye, Beca grabs her coffee to go and leaves before Chloe has a chance to reply. As the door clangs behind her, she chugs the drink with a sharp grimace and slams the cup into a nearby trash bin, spewing the beverage onto the sidewalk as she stalks away.

Beca had always taken her coffee black.

She just never realized it could ever taste so bitter.

* * *

_There was a time once when you asked, “Why do you love me?” Platonically, of course. I didn’t have an answer for you then. I still don’t have one now. I wanted to give you an answer, but the words will never come clear. I didn’t say anything when you asked, just looked at you until you dismissed it and looked away, and I have a lot of regrets in my life. But that moment… the way you hid your disappointment behind a smile, I’ll never regret anything more. Because what I should have said is this:_

_“You are my favorite person. You’re the first person to come to mind when things happen – good, bad, ugly. It doesn’t matter, you’re always the person I want to tell first. To talk to. To share with. To vent to. To laugh with. Sometimes, even to cry to._

_I wouldn’t be who I am today without you. You came into my life exactly when I needed you, even when at first, I didn’t want you there. You encouraged me to be more than I was, to see beyond only what I wanted to see. I’ll always consider those first few years a trial by fire, and you… you were my saving grace._

_But you’re so much more than what you’ve done for me. You’re undeniably beautiful, unassumingly smart – you’re the one thing no one ever sees coming. You’re stronger than I’ll ever know, brave enough to be vulnerable, and your heart is worth its weight in gold._

_I’ll never be able to tell you fully the impact you've had on my life because every day you’re changing it still. My life is in a constant state of evolution, and I’m my only best self when I’m with you.”_

_Or… or something like that._

_I don’t know if this is the answer you were looking for, or if it’s what you wanted to hear. I guess I never will._

_Because I never told you._

_…_

_I probably never will…_

* * *

Beca swirls the whiskey in her glass, listening to the chinking of ice cubes as she stares blankly ahead, adamantly ignoring the pile of mail that sits atop her kitchen counter. Bills, promotional mail, the occasional fan letter; there’s nothing new – nothing new except the floral blue envelope, the one she doesn’t have to open because she already knows what’s inside. She takes a sip of her drink, relishing in the way it burns down her throat, grateful to feel something – _anything_ – other than the mind-numbing realization that this is actually happening.

That Chloe is really getting married.

She knows she only has herself to blame for this. She had seven years to act, seven years to figure it all out. But seven years were gone too soon. Seven years were not enough.

She thinks back, reminiscing on the last night of their USO tour, remembers how she’d followed Chloe off stage after her introductory performance with every intention of finally admitting to her how she felt. But then Chloe had sped up, took a sharp turn right, and flung herself straight into the waiting arms of Chicago. So Beca – figuratively, not literally – threw herself into the arms of Theo, mind skipping tracks like a broken record, ignoring the painful sting of rejection and leaping head first into her new musical career…

Beca sighs and shoves a coupon magazine over the envelope, effectively hiding it from view, pretending not to know that it exists. She had been too late then. She was too late now.

She takes her glass, grabs the bottle for good measure, and shuffles her way to the couch, plopping into its cushioned embrace with little ceremony. She stares out at the New York skyline, the view familiar but foreign from the floor-to-ceiling windows of her new apartment. Though she stayed on the East Coast after coming back from tour, she had compromised by moving closer to the heart of downtown, two buildings away from the recording studio and dead center in the heart of the music scene. It’s more space than Beca will ever need, emptier than she’d like to admit.

But she supposes it’s a good reflection of how she feels inside, hollow and empty despite the constant flux of work and new people to meet. She’s had drinks with celebrities, partied with rockstars, and was slowly building a small but solid following of devoted fans. She was up-and-coming, on top of the world, and yet Beca had never felt so low. Because what was the point if she didn’t have someone to share that success with? What was the point if she didn’t have Chloe to come back to?

Beca drinks her whiskey in silence, hoping the answer lies at the bottom of the glass, maybe at the bottom of the bottle, and then perhaps the bottom of the next. The night drags on, one moment blurring into the next until suddenly its 3AM and somehow she finds herself sitting on the floor of her work space. She’s half slumped in front of her laptop, headphones askew, scribbling lyrics onto the back of an old takeout menu between sips of alcohol and the disoriented strumming of her acoustic guitar.

She works through the night and well into the morning, hissing as the light blinds her bloodshot eyes. Beca doesn’t stop until her laptop dies and she’s too exhausted to find the cord, curling herself amongst the empty bottles and crumpled balls of discarded paper. She sleeps away the rest of the day, ignorant and unaware of the world outside her door, and when she wakes up to the evening twilight, she’ll be surprised to find that she has a new song and a new track.

But she still won’t have Chloe, and it’s a poor consolation in comparison.

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is getting longer than I expected for a “one-shot”, so instead of 2 parts, now you get 3. Updates are just a bit slow because 1) I’m a sloth of a writer and 2) I’m busy with school/work/personal stuff. But, here’s pt 2 to hold you over for now, and pt 3 will be done... when it’s done.

_ I once read something a long time ago, about sacrifices and letting go. It said sacrifice is a part of life, that it’s supposed to be, and that it’s not something to regret but to aspire to. Sometimes, when you sacrifice something precious, you’re not really losing it. You’re just … passing it on to someone else. _

_ But the thing is… I’m not ready to lose you yet. I’m not ready to pass you on. _

_ I’m selfish and self-centered, stubborn and proud. I want what I want, and I’m used to getting it. But what happens when what I want…  _

_ … doesn’t want me? _

* * *

It could have been water in her glass, maybe seltzer that had lost its fizz. It could have been clear juice, or a lemon soda, or any other number of colorless drinks, but the transparent liquid that bathes her ice is undoubtedly alcoholic in nature. It could have been water, but it isn’t, and Beca doesn’t care if anyone knows it. 

She finishes pouring her third vodka of the flight, grateful that she had remembered to raid the duty-free store before getting on board. Lifting the now empty bottle, she silently asks for the attendant to collect it, smiling gratefully as the woman takes it without question. She’s thankful for the discretion of first-class flying, and though she hasn’t yet risen to the sort of fame where she can be recognized on the spot, she knows Theo and her PR team would appreciate a lack of incident regardless. After all, what better way to start off your career than some nosy tabloid questioning whether or not you have an alcohol problem?

“Anything else I can get you, ma’am?” the woman – Claire, her name tag reads – asks, smile careful and patient from years of practice.

“Uhm…” Beca stares thoughtfully at her drink, contemplating her next decision. They’re only an hour and a half into a five hour flight, and she’s headed straight to the rehearsal dinner the instant they land. Though she’d love to spend the remainder of the evening blackout drunk, she can’t find it within herself to do that to Chloe – can’t ruin what’s going to lead to the happiest day of her best friend’s life simply because it will be the most miserable of her’s. 

“You guys serve food, right?” she asks with a sheepish, somewhat crooked grin.

“Yes, we serve a selection of in-flight meals. Would you like to see the menu?” 

“No, that’s fine. I’m not picky. Just, uhm… just bring whatever has the most carbs I guess,” she says, laughing forcefully to hide her awkwardness. “Sorry, I… uh, I’m headed to a wedding and, um…”

“... you got the party started a little too early?” Claire supplies helpfully.

Beca nods, mouth pulled thin in a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah, I guess you could say something like that…” Clearing her throat, she adds, “Could I also maybe get some water with my food?”

“Yes. Of course. It’ll be out shortly.” 

Claire nods courteously and departs to prepare her meal, leaving Beca to brood in silence. She releases a heavy sigh, turning her attention back to her laptop as she fiddles half-heartedly with the touchpad. The song she wrote the night she received Chloe’s invitation still sits in her hard drive, as untouched and ignored as her feelings for the redhead. She had briefly entertained the idea of presenting it to DJ Khaled, but his was a label better known for its anthems than unrequited love songs, and she doubted it would be well received. Furthermore, it was a deeply personal project, created in a moment of vulnerability and emotional distress – not exactly something she was too keen on sharing with the rest of the world.

Sipping her drink, Beca clicks open a web browser and pulls up Instagram, where photos are already being uploaded in preparation of the night’s festivities. She had purposely booked a flight that would land just as the rehearsal was starting, allowing her to skip to the practice wedding and arrive after drinks had already started. Even if the rehearsal itself was nothing more than a run through of the ceremony, Beca didn’t have it in her to watch Chloe get married more than once – pretend, or real. 

Absentmindedly, she scrolls down her feed, taking in the different images. Despite her melancholy, she can’t help the small smile that fights its way onto her lips, grinning at the antics of her friends. With Chicago being an Atlanta native and Chloe having attended college in the area, it’s only fitting that their wedding take place at Barden. The Bella House had been generously vacated by the newer generation for that weekend, allowing their older “sisters” to take residence while they celebrated the wedding, and the girls had taken full advantage of rooming together again after so much time apart. 

She smiles at the picture of Stacie sitting at the kitchen island, baby Bella curled lovingly at her side, and laughs at the photo of Ashley and Flo fighting for space to do their makeup in the bathroom, with Jessica standing on a stool to see the mirror over them. She grins at CR pouring a pitcher of margaritas, rolls her eyes at Fat Amy sneaking a peek at the gifts, and scoffs at Aubrey blowing her whistle as she points up the stairs for everyone to get ready. 

She’s about to take another sip when she comes across a picture of Chloe and Chicago, their lips locked as the soldier dips his bride-to-be in a pose that’s achingly similar to the one he’d held her in that night on the USO tour. It’s a throwback from their engagement party, something she had purposely not attended, citing a meeting that couldn’t be rescheduled no matter how hard she’d pleaded. 

In truth, she’d spent the entire day on an airplane to LA, the majority of her possessions stuffed into a single duffle bag while the rest of her meager belongings were packed up and awaited shipping. It was a spontaneous move on her part, feeling claustrophobic and caged by the towering New York skyline, and she was lucky that Epic Records – of which We The Best was an imprint of – had its corporate studio and office located in the area, meaning there were really no issues with her impromptu relocation. 

As long as she had internet, a working computer and phone, and was within the relative vicinity of a recording studio, Beca was pretty much set to live wherever she saw fit. And if that just so happened to be three thousand miles on the other side of the country, away from her best friend and the woman she loved? Well, some things were just strange coincidence…

That had been about two and a half months ago, and time had passed quickly. She knew they were in a crunch to get married before Chicago deployed, but it just wasn’t enough for Beca to really wrap her mind around it all. She hadn’t necessarily been in denial, but she’d made herself busy over the weeks leading to Chloe’s inevitable nuptials, finding any and every excuse to stay away. Unfortunately, she couldn’t play hooky when it came to the actual wedding itself, and seeing the photo now was only a stark reminder of the future that awaited her upon arrival… 

“Here’s your food,” Claire interrupts, setting a plate onto the empty space of her tray table. “We have pan seared chicken breast with a side of roasted potatoes and an assortment of steamed vegetables. I hope it’s to your liking.”

“Oh, uhm… it looks great, thank you,” she replies distractedly, taking her laptop and shoving it aside. She accepts the silverware and nods gratefully as a fresh glass of ice water is poured, unfolding her napkin and setting it in her lap. 

“Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No, this should be good… thank you.”

Claire smiles and moves to leave, but pauses mid-turn and points a curious finger at Beca’s screen. “Is that the happy couple?”

Beca’s eyes follow, stomach clenching at the sight, “Oh, yeah. T-that’s my best friend, Chloe, and her fianc é , Chicago…”

“They’re lovely.”

“Yeah,” she forces herself to grin, “They’re… they’re something special.” 

She continues to smile politely, feigning cheer in spite of the way her heart lurches, dropping it only after the flight attendant leaves and she’s alone once more – or as alone as one can be on a fully booked flight. Her face instantly twists into one of disgust, hand reaching out to slam the laptop shut. She sighs heavily, staring morosely down at her plate, appetite nowhere to be seen as she rolls a potato around with her fork. 

Despite her sour mood, Beca knows she has to pull it together, downing the last of her vodka and swearing it off for the remainder of the flight. Stabbing a sliver of chicken, she shoves it into her mouth and forces herself to chew, fighting her initial gag reaction after having nothing but alcohol in her stomach since breakfast that morning. She lets it settle in her stomach, making sure it won’t come back up before taking another bite, and then another. 

It tastes like sand and goes down like gravel, but she manages to make a solid dent in the meal before giving up on it all together, pushing it away as she washes it down with water. Claire passes by again, taking the dirtied dishes and refills her glass without prompt, and Beca doesn’t care if it isn’t “proper etiquette”. She’s leaving that woman a tip.

At least it’ll be one thing she can feel good about doing today.

* * *

_ “Beca, you’re so late!” _

“I know, I know,” she huffs, phone trapped between her shoulder and ear as she blindly searches for the spare key to the Bella House. Flipping over flower pots and kicking off the mat, she growls in frustration, silently cursing Legacy for changing it from its usual spot in the flagpole. 

_ “Just hurry up already. We’re almost done at the chapel and––why do you sound so out of breath?” _

“Because I can’t find the damn key, and I need to drop off my luggage!” Beca growls, annoyed and frustrated as she wades into the bushes, searching to see if Emily had perhaps buried it beneath a fake rock or garden gnome.

_ “Oh my god, it’s taped beneath the window sill!”  _ Aubrey cries, her irritation near palpable even through the phone.  _ “Just drop your shit off and get over here!” _

“Look, I just got off a five hour flight and I am gross,” Beca replies, hand scraping against the underside of the window sill. Finding the key, she rips it free and jams it into the keyhole, sighing with relief as the lock clicks and she’s finally allowed entrance inside. “Give me ten minutes to rinse and change into something that doesn’t smell like recycled air, and I’ll meet you all in the garden for the dinner.”

_ “Fine, but you  _ **_know_ ** _ you should have gotten an earlier flight,” _ the blonde grumbles, eliciting a roll of the eyes from Beca.  _ “Also… New York isn’t five hours from Atlanta. What did you do, get a layover? Couldn’t afford a straight flight on a celebrity’s paycheck?” _

“Ha, ha… funny,” Beca grumbles, redirecting their conversation from her place of residence. It had “accidentally” slipped her mind to tell the others that she had moved, and now certainly wasn’t the time to get into it. “Look, I’m not even part of the ceremony, so it’s fine. I don’t need to be at the actual rehearsal itself–”

_ “Well you  _ **_would_ ** _ be if you answered your phone every now and then. Or at least your texts… maybe even your email? I get you’re busy being this awesome pop star now, but you’ve been MIA since Chloe got engaged – even before that, if we’re being honest.” _

“I have a lot on my plate, okay?” she snaps, lugging her baggage up the stairs to her old room in the attic/loft. “I’m sorry I haven’t been there, but I’m here now and–”

Beca halts as she passes Chloe’s old room, the door ajar to reveal her dress hanging from the closet shelf. It’s a classic A-line, white lace over a smooth bodice, the upper half tight and fitted before flowing out loosely towards the ground. Stunning doesn’t do it justice, and beautiful is hardly better, but Beca thinks its the most gorgeous thing she’s ever seen, and the thought of Chloe wearing it tomorrow is enough alone to take her breath away. 

_ “–ca? Beca, are you there?” _

She hangs up without further comment, sliding the phone into her back pocket as she shoulders her way into the room. She steps towards the dress, reaching a hesitant hand out to touch it. Her fingers brush gently against the fabric, tentative and testing, as if she’s not entirely certain it’s real. But the dress before her is solid and concrete, tangible beneath her searching digits; her free hand flies to her mouth, capturing the sudden, shuddering sob that threatens to escape.

“Fuck,” she whispers, hand clenching around the hem of Chloe’s dress. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…!” Tears pool at the corner of her eyes, but Beca refuses to let them fall, eyelashes fluttering as she stubbornly blinks them away. “Have some god damn self control,” she grits out, jaw clenched as she fights for some semblance of composure. 

She just didn’t think it’d ever hurt this much, didn’t think it could ever feel so utterly devastating, but one look at the dress, and it’s like something inside of her just  _ breaks. _

It takes a full minute for Beca’s eyes to stop burning, two to get her breathing back under control, and five minutes to convince herself not to call an Uber and jump on the first flight back straight to LA – maybe to the other side of the world, if she could get away with it. But though it pains her to admit, Beca knows that no matter where she goes or how far she runs, she’ll still be living in a world where Chloe Beale is (soon-to-be) married, and she may as well go down facing the truth than with her back turned like a coward.

Breathing deeply, Beca gives herself one last moment to gather her bearings, eyes raking over the dress a final time. It really is beautiful, and Chloe will undoubtedly make a perfect bride. 

The only downside is that she won’t be her’s.

* * *

“Champagne?”

Beca blinks, surprised to find herself already in the rose gardens, where a large tent and dozens of tables had been set out. Lights are strung up from trees, creating a soft, warm glow, and music plays gently in the background, wafting along the nighttime breeze. She had been on auto-pilot since the dress, rinsing in the shower before grabbing a fresh change of clothes (dark slacks, a blue button up, and her favorite leather jacket) walking the ten minutes across campus to the garden nearest to the chapel. So lost in her own world, she hadn’t even realized that she’d already arrived, the anxiety swelling in her gut as she looks around the crowded vicinity.

“Sorry, what?” she asks, breaking from her reverie. 

“Champagne?” the waiter asks again, offering her a tray of glasses.

“Oh, yes. Please,” she replies, grabbing a flute, “Thank you.”

He nods politely before walking off, leaving Beca to stand awkwardly alone, craning her neck to see over the sea of guests in search of her friends. She doesn’t see them so much as she hears them, their loud, girlish laughter cutting through the cacophony of other sounds, and she follows her ears until she finally catches sight of them on the other side of the lawn, crowded around Chloe as she regales them with a tale or another about her life in vet school. 

It’s the first time Beca has seen her in almost three months, since the day Chloe told her she was engaged and she had walked out in a half-panicked state, claiming work as her excuse. She had imagined this moment several dozen times over the course of her day, and yet none of the scenarios she’d constructed in her mind could ever truly compare to what it felt like now, seeing her in person after so much time had passed. Three months was hardly forever, but after having Chloe as such a constant presence in her life for several years now, it may as well have been eternity. 

Beca is stunned to realize that, despite the fear and anxiety she had felt leading up to this, she feels nothing but a calming sense of comfort standing there now. But she supposes Chloe has always made her feel like this, has always been her safe harbor and shelter in even the darkest of nights. She had been her rock, her shield, her guiding light, and though she herself was the cause to Beca’s inner turmoil, she was also the only one who could ever get her through this.

Beca takes a deep breath, preparing herself to walk over, but Chloe catches sight of her long before she can even make the conscious decision to move, and she can only raise her glass in an awkward greeting before Chloe shouts her name and launches across the grass to reach her. She kind of hates Jesse for making her watch so many stupid movies, but Beca swears time slows down, and it’s like no one else in the world matters. Because Chloe is running to  _ her _ , eyes bright and blue and beautiful, with a smile that’s as wide as the day is long. 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t last, and time speeds back up at the last possible moment, leaving Beca scrambling to brace herself against the incoming missile that is her best friend. Thinking quickly, she barely manages to set her glass on a nearby table just as Chloe barrels into her, knocking the breath from her body. Instinctively, her arms wrap protectively around the older woman, falling back onto her strongest leg to catch them as she struggles to steady the already babbling redhead.

“Beca! Oh my god! You’re here!” Chloe cries, arms flung around the brunette’s neck as she buries her face into the crook of her shoulder. “I can’t believe you made it! I’ve missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, Chlo,” Beca wheezes, straining for air as Chloe’s hug tightens. “Dude, could you ease up a bit? I can’t br–are you crying!?” The moisture against her neck is unmistakable, and the way Chloe’s shoulders shudder is almost a dead giveaway, but Beca asks anyway, a little incredulous and a lot confused.

“No…” Chloe says, head turning side to side as she uses Beca’s jacket as an impromptu wipe for her face.

“You totally are,” she replies, a gentle grin easing its way onto her lips.

“So what if I am?” the redhead relents, pulling back to reveal her tear stained eyes, “You’d cry too if you hadn’t seen or heard from your best friend in months!” Then her eyes narrow, and asks almost accusingly, “Why aren’t  _ you _ crying!?”

“Because I’m a badass and above such silly things like emotions,” Beca smirks, snickering as the other woman scoffs and punches her half-angrily in the shoulder. 

“Jerk,” she huffs, annoyance evident though hardly genuine.

Beca doesn’t respond, merely laughs and shakes her head. She stares at the older woman with nothing short of adoration, steel eyes softened as they often are when it comes to Chloe. “You look beautiful,” she says, finding great joy and amusement in the way it makes Chloe’s cheeks glow.

“You don’t clean up so bad yourself,” the redhead grins, smoothing out the shoulders of Beca’s jacket and straightening her collar. 

“I try,” she replies, shrugging nonchalantly. 

Chloe rolls her eyes, mouth opening to reply, when an arm slips around her shoulder and Chicago hugs her to his side. “Hey, there you are,” he greets, looking breathless and somewhat pale. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I can’t believe you ditched me with your Aunt Valerie, and now I’ll never look at grapefruit the same way again…”

Chloe cringes. “Did she tell you about the–”

“Yeah–”

“Did she mention the–”

“Everything,” he asserts, “Every detail. She was very thorough… left nothing out.”

“Aw, I’m sorry,” she says, patting his chest in sympathy. “It’ll take awhile, but I promise you’ll get over it. Just… stay out of the citrus aisle at the grocery store, and you’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, well… I met your Aunt Val, so now you get to meet my Uncle Mike. It’s only fair,” he grins, nodding his head towards a man in the crowd.

“What? Oh, you mean right now?” Chloe asks, as Chicago turns to lead her away, “But Beca–”

“Beca?” he repeats, before looking down and finally noticing the tiny brunette, “Oh, Beca! Wow, hey! So glad you could make it! It’s been ages!”

“Yeah,” she nods, forcing herself to smile along, “It’s definitely been awhile. Glad to be here.”

“It’s really good seeing you again. We definitely need to catch up,” he says, slipping his hand into Chloe’s as he gently pulls her away, “But first I gotta get back at this girl for leaving me with her aunt. You don’t mind if I steal her from you, right?”

Beca doesn’t even have a chance to reply, Chicago leading Chloe off into the crowd, waving dispassionately at the two as they leave. Chloe turns over her shoulder, sending an apologetic smile her way, but Beca has already returned to her drink, flagging a waiter for a second as she chugs the first down. She leaves her empty glass on the tray and grabs two more as he arrives, wandering off to find some place to brood in peace. As she walks away, pointedly ignoring the sympathetic stares of the Bellas (who had been watching attentively since the instant Chloe left them) , she muses over the irony of Chicago’s question. 

_ “You don’t mind if I steal her from you, right?” _

Funnily enough, Chloe had never been Beca’s to steal to begin with. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and reviews are appreciated!  
> Find me on tumblr: the-effin-mitchell


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